


What Makes It Real

by missbecky



Series: For What Comes Next [2]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Fix-It, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Movie, Recovery, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 03:10:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10867830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbecky/pseuds/missbecky
Summary: Their life together is not perfect.It's rather imperfect, in point of fact. But Harry cherishes it all the same. The flaws are what makes it real.





	What Makes It Real

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks and love to Mollie. For everything.

"Well? How do I look?" Eggsy spins away from the mirror.

Harry's breath catches a little at the sight of him. The tuxedo fits him beautifully, classic lines and black bow tie at his throat. His hair is swept into a formal part and his shoes are shined to a bright gloss. He is devastatingly handsome, and judging by the little smirk playing about his lips, he knows it, too.

"You'll do," Harry says.

Eggsy deflates a little then. "Really? That's all you got?"

"I'm not sure what you expected," Harry says. He crosses the short space separating them. "Perhaps you thought I would tell you how magnificent you look? Or that I might do this?" He leans down and claims Eggsy's mouth.

Eggsy hums in happy satisfaction, rising up onto his toes a little as he leans into the kiss. Harry is more than happy to give him what he clearly wants, taking his time with it, tasting every inch of Eggsy's mouth before releasing him.

"Now that's more like it," Eggsy says. His eyes shine with delight. He eyes Harry up and down, licking his lips, perhaps unconsciously. "And you," he says, "are so fucking gorgeous you're gonna make everyone swoon. Just you wait and see."

The praise is a trifle overdone, but Harry accepts it gladly. He is not a big fan of mirrors anymore, but his old vanity is still as strong as ever, and he does appreciate being recognised. He worked hard on his own tuxedo, on making sure he would look just right tonight. Appearances are very important, after all.

"So we ready?" Eggsy asks. He doesn't look nervous, although Harry wouldn't blame him if he were.

It's his last chance to say no. His last chance to beg off, to say he has a headache, to say he's too tired, to come up with any number of excuses. Eggsy wouldn't believe him, of course, but tonight he might be inclined to give in instead of trying to gently persuade him to come along anyway.

But he finds that he's all right with it. He is not terribly enthusiastic about the evening, but it helps to think of it as another mission, something he's rather missed. Make contact, gather information, conduct surveillance, ensure no secrets are lost.

He can do this.

"Yes," he says.

****

The cab pulls up to the house at the appointed hour, and they step outside. Never a big one for punctuality, Harry has all but given up trying to be on time for anything. Spending months in a room flooded with artificial light, where that light never went off, has done for his sense of time. The doctors have said it will come back eventually, but he isn't too worried about it. He'll get there when he gets there, and in the meantime, he has Eggsy to keep him on track.

It's chilly out tonight, and he's grateful for his coat. There's a chance of snow tomorrow, but right now the night is clear. He spares a single glance upward, unable to resist that peek at the sky, and then slides into the backseat of the cab.

"You really think Tom Ford is gonna show?" Eggsy asks.

"It's possible," he replies. Their sources are conflicting on this matter.

"I hope he does," Eggsy says. "I want him to see my jacket."

Harry gives him a smile, but says nothing. The original jacket, that brilliant crushed orange velvet, currently hangs in their closet. He's seen Eggsy wear it, has yanked it off Eggsy's shoulders and thrown it to the floor in his haste to lay his hands on Eggsy's bare skin. He would never consider wearing something like that himself, but on Eggsy, it is just right.

The ride does not take long; their new house isn't far from Stanhope Mews, and avoids the worst of the traffic. It's long enough, though, for his nerves to ratchet tighter inside, like a chain winch being slowly turned. He can feel it in the way his stare becomes cold and fixed, so that he can't turn away from the view out the window.

When Eggsy takes his hand, he is powerless to stop an involuntary flinch. Being touched unexpectedly still has the power to unnerve him, especially when he is already anxious.

With an effort, he manages to turn his head so he can direct his stare now at Eggsy. Sometimes, particularly after a nightmare, when the dividing line between fantasy and reality is too blurry to distinguish, Eggsy has to say it out loud. _You're really here. You're okay._ Tonight though, he just smiles and squeezes Harry's hand. 

And it's enough. After a few moments he's even able to smile back a little.

Eggsy doesn't release his hand. Under other circumstances Harry would be embarrassed by this, but not tonight. Tonight he appreciates Eggsy's silent understanding, and he presses Eggsy's hand in return, making it clear that he too has no intention of letting go.

Outside the city lights pass by, but he's able to look away now. The spell has been broken.

Four months they've waited for this night. Four months of unendurably boring meetings with the planning commission, with contractors, with insurance agents. As the ostensible owner of the Kingsman shop (at least on paper), it's all fallen to him.

And he's done fairly well, if he is allowed to say so. For the first month of the process he was largely useless and he knows it. Merlin handled most of it then, pretending to be Harry's assistant, someone who was sent to meetings in Harry's stead. While Harry himself remained in the new house he and Eggsy had chosen for their own, re-learning what it was like to be part of civilised society.

He very much doubts he would be here now if it hadn't been for Eggsy. Time and again Eggsy stood by his side, believing in him when no one else would – or could. Eggsy was the one to bear the brunt of his temper, to remind him to take his meds, to cover the mirrors and hold him when it seemed like he would never stop shaking.

It's been a slow process, reclaiming his life. There has been the exasperating minutiae of proving he's still alive and re-opening his bank accounts, and the more exciting opportunities to aim a gun on the shooting range and prove that he can still put six rounds in a target. He's stolen one of the few remaining Kingsman cabs and driven for hours until he found a lay-by where he could pull over and scream at the grey sky until he was hoarse. He's sat for hours in the back garden, letting the sun warm his skin, content in the knowledge that he could go inside whenever he chose, remembering what it felt like to have control over his own environment.

And he's done this. In four months he has done what no one thought was possible.

Tonight is the grand re-opening of the Kingsman tailor shop.

Oh, they've been open throughout. On rented premises, of course, a serious step down from their previous home on Savile Row. But the clients have still come, all of them with their own story to tell about how shocked they were when they heard the news, how they would never dream of going to any other tailor.

And now the shop is open again. Or it will be, tomorrow morning. Tonight is the party, the celebration. Tonight the tables with their bolts of fabric are nowhere in sight. Tonight the counter where Andrew once stood – and will soon stand again – has been turned into a bar. Tonight only fitting room one is accessible, in use as a cloakroom, chosen because no one will be able to accidentally activate the secret lift. Tonight a partition prevents anyone from going upstairs, and the workroom, pristine and unused, is open to the public.

Tonight Harry must play the host to their clients, to the Kingsman agents who remain alive -- and if the rumors are true, to Tom Ford and a few other fashion designers.

It's his first mission since he's come back.

****

He knows, although of course he is not supposed to, that Eggsy was instrumental in his reinstatement. For weeks Eggsy worked to persuade them that he was not a threat, that he was not deranged, that he was still quite sane, if perhaps somewhat damaged.

And one by one they too believed. Merlin was the first, coming to him one rain-soaked night to ask his forgiveness, to admit through clenched jaws that he had been so badly wounded by the whole mess that it had been easier to take refuge in protocol and procedure. It had not been a pleasant talk. But by the end of the night they had tentatively resumed their friendship, and he had felt for the first time that he might actually one day fit into his old life again.

Merlin was the one to put forth his name for Arthur. Considering what happened to the last two men to hold the job, the position had been unsurprisingly vacant. Harry had not wanted it either, but even he had to admit that he was never going to be Galahad again.

So the man who couldn't be trusted to carry a gun at first has become their leader. In some ways it's gratifying, the end result of a lifetime spent serving a cause greater than himself. Other times he can't believe it's come to this.

He has plans, though. He won't be another Chester King, just one more in a long line of snobby old men incapable of change. Already he has implemented several policy changes, some of which have been met with resistance. In this, though, Harry is the same as ever. When he wants his way, he is ruthless in seeing it done.

Kingsman will change. It _must_ change. There is no other answer.

****

The cab pulls up to the shop and their driver opens the door for them. Eggsy bounds out into the cold night and gives an exaggerated shiver.

Harry follows more slowly, taking his time. He breathes in deep of the cold night air and glances up at the sky. There's nothing to see, of course, the city lights erasing the stars, but he looks anyway. He's powerless not to.

He thought they would be the first ones here, but when they go inside, he finds Merlin and Lancelot have already arrived. Roxy and Eggsy give each other a quick hug, while Merlin nods with satisfaction. "Looking good," he says.

Harry says nothing. He knows this is the case. Everything is ready for tonight. Every detail has been checked and rechecked half a dozen times. He has accounted for everything, even some things no one else has had to consider. There is no reason to think tonight will not be a success.

Merlin's compliment is sincere enough, but it is just the first. The others will all say the same thing when they arrive. Over the last few months they've all been forthright in their praise, and Harry has accepted it graciously. But he knows it's all bullshit. None of it matters. 

No, he knows with bone deep and bitter certainty that what really matters is the suspicion they harbour toward him. They have learned to be wary of him and that will never go away, no matter what else he might do. Everything he achieves, all his accomplishments, will be forever measured against _that time when_.

Early on that knowledge might have made him decide to just give up, accept the inevitable. But here again Eggsy saved him. Because of all people, Eggsy understands the prejudice of the past. Eggsy has faced it many times since coming to Kingsman, yet he still holds his head high. He still puts on the suit, shines his shoes, cleans his gun, and goes forth to do what needs to be done.

How can Harry do any less?

Eggsy approaches. "Take your coat?"

"Thank you," Harry murmurs, the polite response coming automatically to his lips. He feels a brief pang to lose the heavy warmth of the coat, then hands it over to Eggsy. Once people start arriving and the shop is filled, he will be warm enough. There is a fire burning on the hearth as well, and he unconsciously drifts that way as he watches Eggsy walk toward the fitting room.

The staff will be arriving soon. Harry looks around, savouring these last few minutes to enjoy the quiet, the chance to stand here without anyone asking him what should be done next.

There were a lot of decisions to be made, especially in the beginning. Kingsman agents to plant on various staffs, contractors who never knew their newest employee was a spy. The railway beneath the shop had to be concealed, the lift had to be built, the armory had to be added. There were many secrets that needed to be kept, and more than once Percival had reported back that something simply could not be done.

Harry had never accepted that. There was always a way. Sometimes it meant coming here in the dead of night and physically tearing out a wall himself. Sometimes it meant calling in favours from people who owed him, people who were surprised to find out he was still alive. Sometimes it meant midnight meetings around the dining room table he and Eggsy picked out together, mugs of tea cluttering the table over the rolls of blueprints.

But somehow it had all got done. The building rose from the dust of the original, a bit unsteady at first but growing every day. Until at last here it is, complete, ready for the world.

It's a shame, Harry thinks, that he can't quite say the same about himself just yet.

****

Their life together is not perfect.

It's rather imperfect, in point of fact. But Harry cherishes it all the same. The flaws are what makes it real. 

He spent so long in that cell, imagining what could have happened had he come home the way he planned. The conversations he would have had with Chester King, demanding that Eggsy be let into Kingsman anyway, given a name and a seat at their table. The way he would have broken the news to Eggsy, so pleased and proud.

Occasionally he had let himself dare to go further. To imagine what life would have been like with both of them as Kingsman agents. To wonder what might have been if they had been given the chance to be together.

The reality, though, is far better than any fantasy.

Reality is Eggsy shuffling around in the morning, hair standing up, eyes squinted half-shut. It's tea and toast for breakfast; the background noise of Eggsy's video games on Saturday afternoons; that momentary pause when sorting the laundry, wondering whose black socks those are. It's Eggsy's hand on his arm, Eggsy's breath on his skin, Eggsy's body beneath his.

They argue, of course. Too often Harry finds himself lashing out at Eggsy when he's frustrated over something else, simply because Eggsy is the only one there. But Eggsy gives as good as he gets, refusing to treat Harry like he's made of glass, snapping at him to watch himself.

He hates it when they fight, hates seeing the way Eggsy's eyes go flat with anger. It's too reminiscent of that last day, standing there in his loo when they both tried to hurt each other and ended up drawing blood. And it's too much like those endless drifting days in his cell when Eggsy would visit him in the madness in his head, accusing Harry of fucking up his life.

The worst times though are when Eggsy does something unexpected, something that throws him, that he can't explain. He finds himself stricken with helpless fear then, terrified that he's just uncovered proof that all this is just another hallucination. That he's actually still trapped in that padded cell, drugged and slowly losing his sanity.

When this happens he retreats into silence and stillness. He becomes watchful and wary, looking for further clues. The spy's paranoia serves him well then.

Eggsy has learned what this means. He's become adept at tracing back through the timeline and figuring out what caused the change. He is always quick to explain, to assure Harry that all this is real.

Harry is always deeply ashamed after these incidents.

"Try to remember that you don't really know him all that well yet," Merlin told him once. It was one of the first times they ventured out together, having dinner in a restaurant not far from his new house. "You haven't even been together a full month. Of course he's going to do things you don't expect." 

And he knows Merlin is right, that he and Eggsy don't have years of friendship to draw upon. This thing between them is still bright and new. They're still learning each other, figuring each other out.

There's something terribly sad about it, though. All those little discoveries about another person, all those things that should be happy little revelations, are too often a cause for terror.

But that's not something he knows how to explain. Not that night to Merlin. Not to his doctors. Not to anyone.

****

Harry knows how to work a room. He's still not entirely comfortable with crowds, still sometimes needs the solitude he used to hate so much. But tonight the old ways come back to him with an ease that is both welcome and a little surprising. He mingles with their clients, talking with each one, making them feel valued. He speaks quietly and with appreciation to the staff who are here tonight as cloakroom attendants, security guards, and waiters bearing trays of hors d'oeuvres along with glasses of champagne and water.

He drinks only water himself. He does not touch alcohol anymore. He takes the meds the doctors prescribe, but nothing else, not even aspirin for his headaches. Never again will he let his judgement be impaired by something outside his control, especially drugs of any kind.

Tom Ford does not show. It's probably for the best. Eggsy's orange velvet smoking jacket hangs on a dress form right in the center of the front window. More than one person has cast a slightly puzzled look upon it, no doubt wondering how an establishment as traditional as Kingsman can showcase something so gaudy. But no one asks Harry about it.

Instead they ask him about the rebuilding process, about the new shop's hours, about all those little perks Kingsman offers their clients. They want to be reassured, to know their business is worth something, that they are getting their money's worth when they spend four thousand pounds on a new suit.

And Harry tells them what they want to hear. He's always been good at this part; it's one of the things that made him such a good spy. He can lie with the best of them, and make his target feel his sincerity with every word.

It's only with Eggsy that the mask cracks. Every so often Eggsy's slow orbit through the room brings him in contact with Harry. He doesn't do anything so obvious as touch him, but he always stops. "Okay?"

"Yes," Harry murmurs each time. His pride resents that hovering protective streak in Eggsy's nature, even though he knows such behaviour is not aimed solely at him; Eggsy acts this way toward his mum and sister and even Roxy Morton.

But mostly he is grateful. And somewhat bewildered. And amazed that someone like Eggsy decided at some point to love him.

Because the thing about Eggsy is there is never a time when Harry isn't in love with him. When he's in a bad mood and sulking like a petulant child. When he's sprawled on the sheets, sweat glistening on his skin and his cock curving against his belly. When he's happy, mouth open wide, eyes alight with laughter.

It's all but impossible not to respond in kind when Eggsy laughs like that, and Harry has given up trying. He feels truly free then, able to let himself be happy, to just _be_. He selfishly loves those moments when it's just the two of them sharing a private amusement, when the rest of the world can go fuck off.

And he wants that now, wants to take Eggsy's arm and guide him through the crowd and out the front door. Just say fuck it to everything and go home.

But he has a job to do here. He is a Kingsman again, and he must remember that. So when Eggsy next circles around to where he's standing and asks his question, Harry nods.

"Did I tell you earlier that you look magnificent?" he says.

A smile plays about Eggsy's lips. "You might've, yeah."

"I was wrong," Harry says.

Eggsy blinks, clearly not having expected this.

"You're _fucking_ magnificent," Harry clarifies.

****

Mostly he sleeps all right.

Nights are not bad. He accepts the darkness, even enjoys it. It's a welcome change from the constant bright light that flooded his cell. And Eggsy is there in the bed beside him, a warm body he can reach out and touch anytime he chooses.

He does dream of it sometimes. It can't be helped. He wakes from those dreams with a burning need to get up, to walk around the house. He touches the walls, the doorways, the banister as he goes down the stairs. Anchoring himself in this reality he and Eggsy have created together from the nothing that was all they had when they came back here.

The worst dreams take him back to that beach. In those dreams he stands there, the ocean stretching before him, Eggsy at his side. And he feels again the helpless terror of staking his meager courage on a simple decision. Only this time when he tells Eggsy that he believes this is real, Eggsy just laughs at him. Or worse, Eggsy smiles, a shark smile, bright and happy and every bit a lie.

He has to be alone after those dreams.

But always, eventually, Eggsy comes to him. Sometimes just sitting with him. Sometimes setting a hand on his shoulder, rubbing warm little circles on his back. Another way to remind him that this is real, that he can believe what his senses are telling him.

Most of the time he accompanies Eggsy back to bed without a word. He is too ashamed to say anything.

Eggsy seems to understand anyway.

****

"I must say," Merlin says, "that went quite well." He sounds rather pleased with himself as he locks the front doors.

It's absurdly late – early, actually – and Harry slumps in exhaustion. He feels sorry for the ordinary tailors, the stewards, the ones who have been working here all night but must be here when the shop opens tomorrow.

He will be here, too, of course, but not until later in the morning. He is no Chester King, arriving punctually at 8:30 every day, expecting a full English breakfast on the table within minutes of his arrival. He's already made that clear to everyone, but he knows it will still take a little while for them to really accept the change.

Standing near the counter-turned-bar, Roxy kicks off her high heels and groans with relief. "I gave some trackers to Morris," she says.

Harry nods in satisfaction. They have always had a quiet understanding with Lock and Co., an arrangement that continues with the hatters' newest owner, Morris Westerby. Should the need arise, Kingsman will direct a client to Lock and Co., where they will be guided to purchase the proper hat for their outfit – one that includes a tracker that will allow Kingsman to keep tabs on them.

"Heard a couple of 'em say they wanted to try out my jacket." Eggsy strolls up, preening a little.

"I doubt it's to impress their wives," Tristan mutters.

Eggsy pretends he didn't hear this. "Told you it would sell."

That still remains to be seen. Promises made on a night like this most often amount to nothing. But one never knows.

Merlin walks over to the bar and plucks two glasses off a tray. He hands one to Roxy and keeps one for himself. "A toast?"

They scramble about for a bit, finding glasses for themselves. Harry holds up his water glass, the same one he's been nursing for the last twenty minutes.

"To Kingsman," Merlin says. "To starting over."

Harry can drink to that.

****

The house is quiet and dark; they forgot to leave a light on before they left. Eggsy curses as he bumps into the doorframe, patting along the wall until he finds the switch. He flicks it on and bright light floods the living room.

Harry winces back, for a moment carried on the electric current back to that room, to that place he had tried so many times to escape. Then Eggsy says, "Fuck, I think I drank too much," and the walls come back into focus, crisp lines and framed artwork, nothing at all like the padded cell meant to keep him half-crazy.

Eggsy heads for the loo. Harry locks the front door, then makes sure the back door is still locked, the way it was when they left earlier this evening. He goes into the kitchen and checks the timer on the coffee pot and turns the light on over the stove. He likes the size of this kitchen, likes that it's much bigger than the one in his old house.

He's a little hungry, and he thinks vaguely about having something to eat before going to bed. Something light, like part of the pastry he got at the bakery yesterday. He could set out two slices, offer one to Eggsy.

He walks toward the pastry box where it sits beside the refrigerator, gliding the fingertips of one hand down the counter, over the dishtowel draped over the oven door handle. He does this without even thinking about it. It's not until he's reaching for the white box that he realises what he's done, and he recoils back until he's standing in the center of the kitchen, his hands curled into fists at chest level.

The doctor says this need to touch everything will eventually pass, that his brain will learn to accept what he sees without the need for physical reassurance. That someday, hopefully soon, he won't question his reality any more.

Harry is not so sure. Some things just can't be taught.

He said that to Eggsy once. That email he started on the journey to Kentucky but never got to finish. _Eggsy, I saw in you what someone once saw in me. Something that can’t be taught. The makings of a Kingsman._ He doesn't remember anymore what else he might have said. Something cliched about rising to the challenge maybe. 

Or maybe something more heartfelt. _I love my job and it brings me enormous satisfaction, but at the same time I’ve been very lonely over the years. Thank you for bringing some warmth into my life._

Or maybe not. 

"You know," Eggsy says as he walks up, "I was kinda nervous about tonight. But it really wasn't that bad."

And sometimes this is all it takes to remind him. The sound of Eggsy's voice. Not angry with him, not mocking, not overly bright with pride. Just Eggsy. 

He drops his hands back to his sides and turns around. He doesn't know if Eggsy saw him standing there so strained and anxious, but he knows Eggsy won't mention it. 

"No, it wasn't," he agrees. None of his fears about seizing up in crowds or the bright lights came to pass. No one tried to bypass the locks on the other fitting room doors, or get past the partition leading upstairs. The things meant to remain secret stayed that way.

The mission was a success.

"You did good," Eggsy says. He walks up slowly. His bow tie is still perfectly knotted. His hair is still in place and his cologne is a wisp of scent, not overpowering. He is exquisite, breathtaking. He is everything Harry ever wanted.

"As did you," he replies.

"Still wish Tom Ford coulda come," Eggsy says with a lopsided smile.

"Perhaps we can issue him a private invitation," Harry offers.

"Yeah, okay," Eggsy says. He steps a bit closer, and it's plain to see he's already forgotten about Tom Ford.

Harry stands still, letting Eggsy approach. In the beginning Eggsy's caution was sometimes necessary. That hasn't been true for some time now, but still Eggsy does this, walking toward him with intention, making it clear what comes next. Giving him time to change his mind, to turn away, to say no.

As if Harry could ever say no to him.

Eggsy takes that final step and then he's there, right in front of Harry. It's the simplest thing in the world to bow his head a little, to close his eye when he feels the warmth of Eggsy's forehead on his own. He slips his arms around Eggsy and Eggsy clasps his hands against the back of his neck.

They stand like that for a time. Harry drifts on the darkness, the warmth of Eggsy's touch, the weight of the shoes on his feet. He listens to the steady sound of Eggsy's breathing and the faint sound of a dog barking somewhere down the street.

"You want to go to bed?" Eggsy's voice is hushed, not much above a whisper.

Harry hums a little in agreement.

Eggsy leans in, his nose brushing Harry's cheek as he presses a soft kiss to his mouth. "Okay," he breathes.

It takes him a little bit to get moving. The first step is the hardest, but the ones after that get easier. By the time they reach the stairs, he feels awake again, not quite so ready to fall asleep on his feet.

At the top of the stairs he stops. Eggsy turns back to look at him. "What?"

Harry gazes at him. "Do you know how much I love you?"

Pink colour rushes to Eggsy's face. "I'm guessing about as much as I love you," he replies.

Harry smiles at him. After a moment, Eggsy grins back.

Together they walk into the bedroom, and Harry closes the door behind them.


End file.
